Saving the Fox II: Fiesta
by Therrae
Summary: Celebrating his sons' return to Los Angeles requires a grand affair...but Don Alejandro isn't sure what there is to be happy about. For that matter, neither is Diego.
1. April 28, 1813

Not mine; I own nothing; I make no profit....but I'll buy the DVDs when the folk that _do_ and _can_ will sell them.

Special thanks to Pamz! In the absence of DVDs it is only with her hard work that writing ep-centered fanfic is possible at all. I am extremely thankful for her patience and persistence. This one is for her, as a small payment on my debt.

I'd also like to thank my beta Martha, who has only ever seen two episodes of NWZ in her life, and has followed me here--probably mostly out of love--into the unknown wilds of Colonial California.

And I'd like to thank everyone who wrote to support "Hermanito." I know I was going out on a limb here.

* * *

**Saving the Fox II: Fiesta**

**April 28, 1813  
**

The morning was dim and overcast, but the cool air woke Felipe when the sun did not; Diego had opened the window again. About half the time he said that the air in the house was too stifling to let him sleep. Sometime during the first week, Felipe had realized that that the air was fine. Some nights Diego had just a little trouble breathing. It comforted him a little to know that there was plenty of fresh air.

Grimacing at the chill, Felipe slipped out of the bedroll and bundled it up into a tidy package that would fit under the wardrobe. He slipped on his pants and, picking up his sandals, crept to the grand bed in the main bedroom and looked down at Diego sleeping.

His color was good this morning. His breathing was even and deep. His hands were relaxed. Felipe let himself enjoy it for a moment: Diego not sweating and pale, not pretending to be calm, not enduring a dizzy spell. Not even tired and a little sad.

"Tell me you don't do this every morning," Diego said, his eyes closed, his face composed as though he were still asleep.

Felipe, startled, skipped backwards. The thump when he landed made Diego open one eye. "Surely, you aren't checking to see if I'm alive."

Felipe scowled. With the hand that was not holding his shoes, he made horns.

"Oh, yes, that's very gracious. I trust Father hasn't seen you curse like that." There was laughter in his voice and Felipe couldn't help smiling back.

Slowly, Diego turned over...and then, slowly, he sat up.

Felipe sat on the bed and began putting on his sandals. When he was younger, he hadn't understood how improper this familiarity was. No one--not even the shorter one--had explained that the peasant child taken in as an act of charity should show a respectful restraint and remember his place. He'd intended to show he could do better when the twins came back from Madrid. He'd be mature and decorous, he knew better now--

The last thing Diego needed from him was propriety. Felipe had spent four nights now holding Diego's hand while he panted his way through a bad spell. What Diego needed was to be teased and pestered with questions and taken fishing. He needed someone to play chess with, someone to listen when he wanted to talk about rain or bees or the moon.

In the two weeks since the twins had returned home...some of the days had been pure pleasure. Diego knew practically everything. Felipe had all but given up trying to find a question he couldn't answer. A collection of books had come back from Madrid: poetry, geography, natural philosophy, and Diego was always willing to show Felipe something new, explain something interesting.

Diego could also sit patiently on the riverbank, letting the fish come in their own time...or admire a little carving Felipe had made...or sit and eat oranges in the shade by corral.

Felipe's favorite playmate, dearest friend, and teacher had come home. Sometimes everything seemed perfect, and he could forget that anything was wrong. And then Diego would go white and 'need a moment' to collect himself. Or he'd become winded crossing a room. Or he'd be tired without warning and go to lie down.

And sometimes it was worse. Diego's pale lips would go blue and he'd gasp and gasp while the little pulse in his wrist raced, uneven and weak. The worst of these lasted two or three hours. Diego would close his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear while Felipe sat beside him, unable to do anything but wait for the spell to pass. Sometimes a cool cloth on his face helped. Sometimes Gilberto would come and talk quietly about mathematics or foreign languages. Mostly, though, Diego just wanted quiet for his battles. He would hold Felipe's hand, panting great, slow breaths while his heart raced and faltered.

Felipe tried not to think about that--at least not in front of Diego. Diego was watching him _now_, though, with a knowing expression. "Felipe, you must see...this can't go on. It's asking too much of you--"

"You didn't ask," Felipe shrugged.

"You're too young to take this responsibility, even voluntarily. See reason--"

"How old were you when you brought me home?"

"At least four years older than you are now. And it's hardly the same thing--"

Felipe nodded, quickly agreeing. "True! You can hear. You can talk. You understand what is happening to you." Felipe paused, gave him a fierce look. "Also, I will not have to teach _you_ how to use a napkin or read."

"You are impossible," Diego said. It wasn't a criticism.

Felipe hopped off the bed. "Get dressed," he said. "Come have breakfast in the kitchen."

Diego stood up more slowly. "Oh, yes, that's right. Father and 'Berto went hunting this morning. You should have gone with them. Father says you're quite a good shot."

Felipe ignored that.

In the kitchen, Maria was fussy and cheerful. She still treated the twins as though they were Felipe's age, and today was no different. She asked if Diego had washed and clucked over how he wasn't eating enough. She gave them fresh milk and eggs and bread with honey. For half an hour or so, it seemed as if nothing had changed, as though they hadn't gone away to Madrid at all.

"Do you need anything from town for the party tomorrow?"

"I was going to send Tomas in with a wagon later," she answered.

"We could go," Diego offered. "It isn't as though I have plans for today." When they both shifted uncomfortably, Diego smiled charmingly and added, "The weather is not hot, I will be on a wagon, and I promise Felipe will do any heavy lifting. No one could possibly argue with that."

Frowning a little, Maria glanced at Felipe. He had actually lifted his hands to answer when he realized what had just happened. His hands came down hard to slap the table. "No! He is not a child. He is not in jail. And I am not--I am not his jailer! _He_ decides."

Diego reached over and caught Felipe's near hand, shaking his head. Blushing, Felipe looked at Maria and apologized with his free hand. Maria wasn't looking at him: she was looking at her feet, absently drying her hands on her apron. "Don Diego, I...I didn't mean...."

"Everyone is trying to protect me," he said softly. "And I appreciate that. I do." He paused, but she would not look up. "Adjustments have to be made. It takes some getting used to."

She still could not meet his eyes. Felipe realized she was hiding pity or grief, and that Diego must know it, too. But she reached into a pocket and withdrew a scrap of brown paper. Her list. She handed it to Diego without a word and refilled his glass of milk.

They didn't leave for town at once. Felipe suspected Diego was timing it so they could have lunch at the tavern. Diego was completely enchanted by Senorita Victoria. No one else had noticed, as far as Felipe knew. Certainly _she_ hadn't noticed. The few times they'd met since the twins had returned she'd been too busy or too distracted or too polite to really pay attention to the way Diego looked at her.

So instead of leaving right away they had a history lesson. At this stage, the "lessons" still consisted of Diego exploring the boundaries of what Don Alejandro had been teaching. He asked harder and harder questions, and Felipe answered. Where Don Alejandro had preferred his answers on paper, Diego was comfortable having abstract conversations in sign (with a paper and quill nearby for a truly obscure term) and believed that depriving Felipe of the chance to organize his answers on paper was good for his intellectual development.

Felipe thought it was a pain in the neck, but he didn't say so: he didn't want Diego to think he was lazy.

They got to town at about lunch time. Diego was so bland and casual when he suggested stopping at the tavern before running their errands that Felipe suspected that even he might not have noticed his particular interest in the tavern owner.

While he was securing the horses, Paulo rushed up. Felipe hadn't had a chance to talk to him in several weeks, since Paulo worked at the mission and they'd been preparing fields for planting. On the one hand, Felipe hadn't seen him in a while and wanted to talk--but on the other, he couldn't leave Diego. There was no question of that.

Diego's sharp eyes had caught his quandary. "I'll order lunch," he said gently. "Join me when you're ready."

Paulo wanted to gossip. He was half Chumash and could read Felipe's handsign, but as usual he was much too wrapped up in the latest rumors to listen to anyone else's opinion anyway. He had news about his myriad relatives, which wasn't very interesting, and news about the mission, which actually was: word was the pueblo priest, Father Raphael, was going to be promoted. Nothing definite yet, but apparently everyone was whispering about it.

Even as he listened, though, Felipe couldn't get his mind off of Diego. He was just in the tavern, hardly two dozen steps away. And he'd be fine...

They'd caught the wild dog that was killing chickens out at the orphanage, finally. It had been a huge monster, nearly ninety pounds. "But I haven't asked about you. Everyone is saying those twins are home."

Felipe nodded, his eyes straying to the tavern door.

"Is that who you came in with? Was that the one who's dying?"

Felipe flinched. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to talk about the truth. He wasn't even sure what the truth was.

As usual, Paulo didn't notice when Felipe didn't answer.

"Don Alejandro, he's well thought of in town. A lot of people feel sorry for him. Still, he has another son, doesn't he?"

Rather than smash Paulo's nose in, Felipe signed, "I have to go," and hurried into the tavern.

Diego was seated at a table, drinking juice with one of the garrison lancers.

Felipe tripped to a surprised stop in the doorway. Locals did not mix with military stationed in town. And caballeros did not eat with scruffy soldiers. There wasn't a rule against it, really. But why would you make a rule? Who would want to sit with them?

Diego waved him over and Felipe sat down just as Senorita Victoria brought over three plates of tamales. "Felipe! I haven't seen you in a while.. Diego been keeping you busy?"

Grinning, Felipe signed fluidly, "Lessons all day. Sunup to sundown. He is merciless." He felt uncomfortable, though he thought he was hiding that. He hadn't expected to eat at the table with Diego in public. And he didn't like sitting so close to the lancer. He was a big man and he smelled like gunpowder, but even aside from that he was a_ lancer_, one of _them._

Senorita Victoria laughed. "Such a hard taskmaster. And, Diego, you seem such a kind and reasonable man."

The lancer shook his head. "I don't...I don't understand. What was that?"

Senorita Victoria was still tisking over Diego. "He claims Diego makes him do schoolwork around the clock."

But that wasn't what the man meant, and Diego answered him softly, "Felipe doesn't speak, Sergeant. He was injured as a child. He talks with his hands. It is a variation of the Indian trade-language. Felipe, this is Sergeant Mendoza. He tells very entertaining stories, and he understands how everything works in the territory. A good man to know."

"Oh, well," the lancer actually looked embarrassed. "That's gracious of you to say, Don Diego." He took a big bite of his tamales and waved his fork in Felipe's direction. "I haven't seen you much in town, have I? A shame: if you do not come to town you cannot eat this very good food." He laughed.

Diego spend a good hour charming the sergeant. Mostly, he seemed to do it by listening, and Felipe had to admit, the man _did_ have good stories. It was possible that most of them weren't true, but maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe Diego was...bored and wanted someone to give him lurid and unlikely accounts of Indian raids and pirate incursions?

Probably not.

Maybe Diego liked him. Despite being one of _them_, Sergeant Mendoza seemed almost nice. He hadn't been put off by Felipe's lack of speech. Everyone who entered the tavern he greeted with a wave, and some of them he called by name. Even a couple of men whom Felipe knew vocally resented the garrison and their heavy-handed enforcement of the alcalde's whims didn't give him dark looks or bother to detour around his table.

Felipe kept his questions to himself while they completed the errands after lunch: a paper-wrapped package at the seamstress's, wheat flour and sugar and coffee from the dry-goods store, cheese from Senora Ortiz.

Once they were on the road home, however, he handed the reins to Diego so he could ask what Diego had been up to.

"I was having lunch, I wasn't up to anything."

Felipe considered accepting that, but in the end he decided that Diego needed to know when he wasn't fooling anyone...or at least when he wasn't fooling Felipe. "He's a soldier. He arrests people for nothing. He's a bad man. Why did we eat with him?"

Diego glanced at him wryly. "Well," he drawled, "at least you aren't accusing me of class prejudice." He sighed. "Yes. He arrests people 'for nothing' because that is his job. And mostly, he doesn't even seem to question it. I feel very sorry for him."

"You bought him lunch because you felt sorry for him?"

"No, I had lunch with him because if Gilberto and I make a mistake...I don't know if you can understand. Those soldiers have as much to lose as anyone else here. Zorro isn't the only one taking risks. I need to know what I can expect from those men at the garrison. And I need to remember that they are men."

Sometimes Diego had very odd ideas. "The alcalde does evil things. He likes to hurt people--you said so! And the soldiers help him."

"Yes, they're in a terrible position."

Sarcastically, Felipe answered, "Yes, they're_ bad_."

"They face a firing squad if they disobey orders. They enlisted for glory, or loyalty to the king, or to make an honorable career." He sighed. "Or because they had no better ideas....We had friends in the corps in Madrid. I know Gilberto thinks of that, when he looks at these men in their uniforms."

Since Felipe couldn't think of any answer to that, he took the reins back.

Z

Don Alejandro and Gilberto had returned from their hunt with a fat young buck. It hung in the shed, waiting to be dressed for tomorrow night's dinner: venison and fish and pork, an extravagant departure from the usual, plentiful, beef.

It was Gilberto who'd brought it down, and Don Alejandro was all over himself with pride. Felipe couldn't help thinking, just a little resentfully, that Diego could have done better. But thinking that way didn't help anyone.

"Diego, what do you think of playing the piano tomorrow night?" Gilberto asked.

"I think," Diego snorted, "that I haven't touched a piano in more months than I care to count."

"Is that 'no,' then?" his father asked.

Diego glanced at the piano in the parlor. "That is...maybe."

He sat down and ran first his eyes and then his fingers over the keys. He paused, looking for just a moment uncertain, and then slow ripples of sound began to flow out from his fingers. The ripples got faster and turned into waterfalls of sound that danced in and out of Felipe's hearing.

Knowing he shouldn't, unable to help himself, Felipe stepped forward and laid his hand against the silky wood of the piano. The sweet sounds filled his hand, his arm, his shoulders. It poured into his bones and swept him away with the torrent. Up and down, up and down--and then suddenly it stopped.

Diego looked up. "Were you thinking of something specific?"

He had been warming up.

Felipe had heard Don Alejandro and Gilberto and Senorita Pascal and Don Armando all play the piano, and Diego put them all to shame just warming up.

"That Mozart sonata you played at Julian's party."

Diego held up seven fingers. Gilberto winced and held up five. Diego thought for a moment. "Oh, yes. I remember that one." He turned back and caressed he keys again. What flowed out was soft and delicate. At first, Felipe could barely hear it, but the notes tickled against his fingers and palms and made him feel light inside. The music danced, a little thicker, a little heavier, a little deeper. The music in his ears and bones was strong and sweet. Felipe had a lump in his throat.

The song--if that was even a word you could use--bounced between cheerful and friendly and gentle...and sad and dramatic and eager. Once or twice Felipe had to open his eyes and make sure that Diego still only had two hands. It hardly seemed possible for one person, alone, to make music like this. Felipe felt a little giddy.

The music went strange and jarring for a moment before resuming its inexorable flow. Felipe sighed. This music was astonishing. There scarcely seemed to be room in his brain for something so big, so sweet, so exciting.

The music stuttered and clanged. Felipe's eyes popped open. Diego was scowling at the keyboard. His hands fumbled, and the skipping melody collapsed into something rhythmless and sour. Snarling, Diego slammed the cover down. And then he cursed, which was almost as shocking. And then he jumped to his feet, pushing back from the piano. Except--

He wavered. For a moment the world was motionless and silent. And then Diego crashed to the floor, taking the piano stool with him.

Although Felipe was closer, both Don Alejandro and Gilberto reached Diego's crumpled form before he did. Gilberto kicked the stool aside so hard he took one of its legs off. Swiftly, with firm, efficient strokes, Gilberto ran his fingers over his brother's head. Diego mumbled something and pushed feebly at the probing hands.

"Be still. It was just a faint. I want to make sure you weren't hurt."

Diego tried to struggle free, but both Gilberto and Don Alejandro were holding him now. He said something, but Felipe couldn't understand what it was.

"Damn it, Diego! Stop. Just...stop. Father, I think we can lift him to the divan. Let's get him off the floor."

Working in concert they managed to turn Diego onto his back and scoop him up onto the divan. Gilberto lifted Diego's feet and set them on the padded arm. "You're all right. Wait a moment. Just be still." He glanced up. Something in Felipe's expression made him wince a little. "A glass of water might help," he said gently. "And a damp flannel."

Felipe ran to get them. He was desperately glad to be doing something to useful. He was also desperately, shamefully, glad to get away. Diego was too pale. His eyes, half-open, focused on nothing. His breathing was too shallow and too fast.

When Felipe got back a couple of minutes later everything had changed. Diego was sitting up, his forearms braced on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Gilberto was standing calmly, once again the voice of reason. "--been over a month since anything like this has happened. It's no reason to panic. And Diego is right, it is no reason to send for the doctor. He overexerted himself and stood up too quickly--"

Diego looked up darkly. "I overexerted myself _playing the piano_," he drawled. "I gave myself such severe palpitations I couldn't finish one sonata--it was almost seven minutes long, I admit, but that is still hardly arduous!"

Don Alejandro turned away and stared unseeing out the window.

Very politely, Gilberto began, "The fault was mine, and I apologize. I pushed you. You need more time--"

Angrily, Diego ground out, "Yes. Perhaps things will improve if I spend a few more months avoiding vigorous activity like sitting down! Do not pretend--" He caught sight of Felipe, standing in the doorway with a tumbler of water in one hand and a damp cloth in the other, and froze. He closed his eyes for a moment and passed a hand over his face. Then, very carefully, he stood up. "Excuse me," he said softly, walking toward the back of the house.

When he was out of sight, Don Alejandro turned and exited in the other direction. For a moment, Felipe was frozen, unsure which of them to follow or what he could possibly say to either of them. Gilberto laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Leave them alone. They need some time."

Felipe set the glass and cloth on a table, but even with his hands free, he didn't have an answer....

Gilberto led him behind the fireplace to the cave. He went to curry and feed Toronado, and Felipe sat down at the battered worktable they'd brought down. He lit the lamp, and the light alternately sank into dark pools of soft leather and glittered of off a scattering of silver fittings.

The twins had brought the fittings back with them from Spain. They were to be a gift for their father, but Zorro had a more urgent need. "We'll give them to him later," Gilberto had laughed. "Once Zorro drives this alcalde off, they'll have historical significance as well as being beautiful.

Obtaining a plain black set of tack had been simple enough. Tooling the leather with a tiny stamp and hammer had taken days, though. Diego did pretty leatherwork, but it wasn't an art form he practiced very often, so it was slow, tedious work.

Diego had also marked the spots where the silver decorations were to go. Felipe picked up an awl and tweezers and began the careful process of positioning and securing the bits of silver. When Gilberto finished tending Toronado, he joined Felipe at the table and began work on the bridle.

The cave was quiet and a little cool. Peaceful. Felipe was sure that Diego would appear in a few minutes, calm and a bit abashed at having lost his temper. He would tell them not to worry and make everything all right.

By the time Felipe had finished with the left stirrup, though, Diego hadn't appeared. Felipe laid out the right stirrup, setting it beside the first so he could make sure they matched. The fittings glittered, blinking up from the inky leather like stars in a night sky. Sucking briefly at a sore finger, he reached for the tweezers.

Abruptly, Gilberto shoved the bridle away and sank heavily onto one of the coarse stools they'd brought into the cave to make it a little more livable. "Did you know I used to wish...." he began in a flat voice, "every time we started something new, I used to wish that just once I would best him at something. My brilliant, talented brother. Everything came so easy for him. God forgive me."

Felipe thought about that for a moment. He knocked on the table for attention and signed, "It's not true. You never hated him. I know it's not true."

Gilberto frowned in puzzlement. "What do you--Oh...no, I didn't. I never wished...for him to suffer."

Felipe nodded. "Never. Everyone always liked Diego better, I did not understand--" Felipe stopped, realizing too late that he'd said far too much.

Amazingly, Gilberto didn't seem offended. "Why didn't I resent him?" He pulled the saddle toward him and ran his fingers over Diego's careful rosettes. "Well. Even when I was in competition with him, he was never in competition with _me_. He took as much joy in my accomplishments as he did in his own. Diego has always been quite devoted to me. Sometimes I think God alone must know why--I certainly have no idea...." he took a deep breath and sat up straight. "No, you're right. I have never hated him. I did not....no, I did not wish this on him."

Felipe tried to look stern. "So stop it. You have nothing to regret. You took care of him. You brought him _home_."

Very slowly, Gilberto shook his head. He ran a single finger along the leather. "You don't understand. It should be him. Zorro. This should be his, not mine. Diego was born for this. He is a better swordsman than I, a better athlete, a better tactician."

Felipe shook his head. "He always said you are as smart."

"He said that to_ you_?" Gilberto's brows rose slightly. He shrugged. "Well, I'll have to be, won't I? I have to be as good as Diego, now. Somehow."

"He believes you can do it."

"Of course he does," he whispered bitterly. "He is generous and loving, as well as a genius. God is not punishing me for resenting my brother. He is only laughing at me." He passed a hand over his eyes. "We should go. We don't want to be late for dinner."

Felipe had stopped serving at the table. He hadn't wanted to. He was very proud of learning to do it correctly. But as Don Alejandro had pointed out, if he didn't eat when the family took their meals he would have to eat some other time, and he wouldn't be available to Diego. Giving up eating altogether was simply not a practical long-term solution.

After dinner in the kitchen he found the twins in the library. Gilberto was reading a novel, but Diego was sitting quietly, staring into the fire that had been started to ward off the chill of the spring evening. Felipe nudged him on the shoulder and asked, "Chess?"

Diego lifted his eyes slowly. "Perhaps not tonight."

Felipe nudged him again. "Will you tell me about the cathedrals in Madrid?"

"Felipe...I'm afraid I'm poor company tonight. Why don't you work on your history for a while? We'll be talking about the Roman Republic next...."

Worried, Felipe glanced at Gilberto. One handed and without looking up from his book Gilberto signed, "Sit down. Read. It's all right."

Obviously it wasn't all right. But Felipe pulled a book randomly from the history shelf and sat down to read.

_TBC_


	2. January 21, 1813: Alta California

**January 21, 1813**

Tomas came running into the barn, a handful of letters clutched to his chest. Alejandro's mouth went dry as he reached for them. The one on top was from Spain, written in Gilberto's hand. From the look on Thomas' face, he knew it, too.

Alejandro turned away and walked to the house with dignified, measured steps. By the time he reached his office, the sweat from his hands had smeared the ink on the envelope. He carefully set the other letters on the desk and--for a just one cowardly moment--clutched the one from Gilberto in his hand.

There was no salutation, just the bald statement, "_Diego is still improving_."

Diego is still improving.

Oh, thanks be to God.

His eyes raced down the page.

_We have seen four doctors in the last two weeks. Only the last was of any use. He was recommended by a friend of Diego's who is in medical school. Dr. Arrellanos is an odd old bird, but Diego is satisfied with his work. He tossed out half the medications Diego was taking and gave us instead an absurd stack of lists--mainly of things he must not eat and things he must eat (nothing pickled, nothing smoked, nothing salted, no coffee or strong chocolate, no soup--but as much fruit as he wishes, small servings of meat at all meals, custard with honey, small amounts of wine, and so forth). His treatment is odd--and frankly his manner is odder--but it actually seems effective. Diego showed clear improvement by the third day. The swelling in his hands and feet is no longer visible (although he says he can still feel some when he closes his fist), his color is much better, he has stopped coughing, he is passing water normally, and he is able to walk from the bedroom to the sitting room._

He was able to walk from the bedroom to the sitting room. God have mercy. And this after weeks of recovery....

_Dr. Arrellanos has recommended a water cure, if Diego is well enough to travel a little by next week. I think he might be. I am much more optimistic than before._

_To answer your question, I am not letting him read your letters himself, so you may write what you wish. I censor as necessary in order to keep him from anything upsetting. One thing all of the doctors continue to agree on is that he must not be shocked or troubled. He is not even allowed to study, although he did not have the energy to complain about that until yesterday._

_Perhaps that is why I am so hopeful now._

Alejandro closed his eyes and collected himself for a moment before going on. He had already read the meat of it, though. All the rest was a little news from Madrid, some terse gossip, and complaints about the mail. The tone of it--worried and uncertain--told him more than enough about Gilberto's state of mind.

He read the letter over four times and took a deep breath. The next needed to be done, though. It was only unkind to put it off, but, oh, it seemed like he barely had the strength to stand, let alone share such tepid news.

Tomas, Juan, Raul, Maria, and Felipe were waiting in the hall. They didn't even try to look like they weren't waiting.

"Diego is still very sick. But he is getting better."

**TBC  
**_In case you haven't guessed, this is going to be huge. Epic. I'll be writing for the next year...._


	3. April 29, 1813

**April 29, 1813**

Diego had a peaceful night. Felipe himself woke three or four times, but each time he checked, Diego was deeply asleep. In the morning the room was cold again, which meant that at some point Diego had been uncomfortable enough to open the window. Still, he hadn't been troubled enough to disturb Felipe's light sleep.

Despite this encouraging start, the day wasn't particularly good. The house was bustling as the staff got ready for the party. It was a huge, joyous occasion: Don Alejandro's celebration, welcoming his sons home from Europe. Except as far as Felipe could see, Don Alejandro spent the day avoiding Diego. They were hardly in the same room together, and even when they were, Don Alejandro wouldn't--quite--look at his son.

As for his part, Diego was...quiet. Felipe was sure he wasn't feeling ill or weak: he knew what that looked like. No. But he was withdrawn and uninterested. Felipe tried clowning around and practicing magic tricks. He tried asking questions about horse training. He produced a strange, orange rock from the ravine that he'd been keeping in his room because it was pretty. Nothing held Diego's attention for more than two or three minutes.

Felipe wanted to shake him. He wanted to say, "I can't play the piano either. It's not the end of the world." He wanted to say, "You're here with us, and we love you. Why does anything else matter?" He didn't.

Finally, after lunch, in an act of desperation, he retrieved a kitten from the barn. The kitten was too young to wean, and Felipe earned himself a scratch from its mother. He set the kitten in Diego's lap.

Diego lifted it up in one hand and gazed into the round, blue eyes. He glanced at Felipe. "Where is her mother?"

"In the barn," Felipe signed.

Diego frowned. He turned the kitten over and ran a finger along its belly. It grabbed his hand and fastened tiny needle teeth on his knuckle. "I don't see anything wrong? Why...?" he stopped and glanced at Felipe again. Removing his hand from the tiny jaws he slowly said, "Do I seem in such terrible...yes, I suppose I do." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't wish to worry you. I wish I knew what else to say, but I find--" he glanced up and Felipe followed his eyes to see the fireplace door open.

Diego winced dramatically at Gilberto and held up the kitten. Gilberto frowned for a moment, not understanding whatever message Diego intended, then nodded at Felipe. Diego sighed and set the kitten in his lap.

"Well," Gilberto said. "You never used to be moody. He's never seen you bitter and feeling sorry for yourself. Although--I have to admit, it's been nearly a day this time. I'm beginning to worry myself."

"Not you, too...." Diego clinched his teeth. "I apologize if my 'moodiness' is inconvenient. Given what I am facing, I don't think a couple of days brooding are completely unwarranted."

Felipe gave Gilberto a furious look and signed a frantic apology at Diego. Gilberto ignored Felipe and said calmly, "It's not inconvenient. It's terrifying."

"It's unanimous, then. How nice that we all agree."

Gilberto opened his mouth. Then he shut it and turned on his heel. His retreat made it as far as a hand on the mantle before he turned back and folded his arms.

The argument that passed between them was so motionless that Felipe couldn't follow it. Diego looked away first. "I don't know," he whispered sadly.

"All right," Gilberto answered. "You don't know. You don't have to know. Just...try. For me. For him. For Father. Just try."

Diego dropped his eyes. Seeing the kitten, he took it into the palm of his hand and ran a single finger along the fuzzy jaw. "She's hungry, Felipe," he said heavily. "Take her back to her mother."

Felipe was calm and steady until he got the kitten out of the room. That was as far as he made it. Out of sight of the twins, he sank into a chair and pressed a hand over his eyes to keep the tears in.

Around the corner Gilberto said, "It was kittens on the ship, wasn't it?"

"The ship's cat had littered. It was the first time I got him to smile....I didn't think he remembered."

Felipe hadn't. Held the tiny ball of fur to his chest and crept back to the barn.

z

The guests began to arrive in the late afternoon. Some had traveled several hours by carriage. They were shown to guest rooms to refresh themselves. Don Alejandro, Gilberto, and Diego, all in their best clothing, greeted the guests. They were polite and warm, and if Gilberto tended to hover at Diego's side...probably nobody noticed but Felipe.

Felipe himself was staying out of the way. Even during this huge celebration, he had no duties except to be available to Diego, but he could do that from a spot in the corner. The house was filling with people he barely knew, many of whom were wealthy or well-thought-of. And while none of them were grander than the de le Vegas, all of them were grander than Felipe.

The kitchen perfumed the whole house with the enticing scents of roasting venison, tamales, fish stew, corn soup, wheat pastries, saffron rice....Felipe couldn't remember there ever being this much food, not even for the Day of the Dead or when they broke the fast at Easter. Don Alejandro was absolutely determined to celebrate the homecoming of his children.

By the early evening guests were arriving every few minutes. Felipe began to notice that Gilberto was growing more and more irritated by...something, while Diego--every time Don Alejandro showed guests on into the house, Diego's polite smile would turn to a smirk. While it was a relief to see his mood lighten, Felipe could not figure out what it was that pleased him so.

Don Sebastian--who lived only a half hour away--arrived in the company of his wife and a niece from Santa Barbara. The niece was pretty. She smelled sweet. She was wearing a confection of lace and cream silk. She smiled very coyly at Gilberto and eyed him over her fan--and Diego took a step back and turned his face away. Felipe, from his vantage point, could see him press his lips fiercely together.

Oh. Gilberto was handsome and intelligent and the oldest son of a very, very rich family. Tonight's party would be a battle for his attention. Felipe had to look away to hide his own smile.

But although it clearly _was_ funny, Felipe couldn't have explained _why_. Gilberto would have his pick of eligible women, surely an enviable position. Lots of men had a hard time finding wives. Maybe it was funny because not all of the girls were pretty and some were unkind or stupid? Maybe it was funny because he could only choose _one_, and the others would have to be fended off?

Senorita Victoria arrived from the pueblo with Senor Estevez and his wife. She was angry about something. It spilled from her in waves, even as she curtsied formally to Don Alejandro and smiled at the twins. Diego leaned down to say something to her, and Felipe saw her answer, "Something that is apparently not appropriate to discuss at a festive occasion." She looked very sour as she glanced after Senor Estevez.

Don Alejandro said something then, and Senorita Victoria's anger softened to sadness. "Our alcalde has arrested three young men for sedition. He is going to whip them tomorrow, publicly. To make an example, he will do it himself." She bit her lip unhappily. "They're practically boys--just a couple of years older than Felipe over there. And the 'sedition' was calling the alcalde a dirty name. He's giving them six lashes each."

Don Alejandro patted her hand and said something that made her sigh. He pulled her aside and the two murmured together for a moment. The look they were sharing was one Felipe had seen many times in the months since Luis Ramone had arrived to take command of the garrison.

z

The party was splendid. Tables had been set up in the courtyard--the only place large enough to accommodate so many. They'd put out excellent de le Vega wine, and Don Sebastian and Don Carlos had each made gifts of their best as well. The food--platter after platter of it--streamed endlessly from the kitchen. And when the meal was done, the tables would be taken away, and the courtyard was filled with musicians and dancing. For light there were dozens of colored lanterns, and small firepots had been set out for warmth. Between the kitchen garden and the bunkhouse the vaqueros were roasting a pig. Every room was full of people laughing and talking or singing or teasing. Felipe found it completely overwhelming. He kept finding himself edging closer to Diego.

During the meal, Diego sat between Gilberto and one of the young women who was pursuing him. Initially, he sat back and watched with a little amusement while she tried to alternately tease and flatter his brother. At some point during the main course, though, he seemed to grow tired of the game--or perhaps Gilberto had petitioned him for help, because Diego shifted forward to block her view. In a very few minutes their conversation first distracted and then deflated her. She turned away and gave her attention to the person on her other side. Gilberto gave Diego a grateful look.

After dinner, Diego settled himself in a wingback chair in the parlor. He had apparently decided to gracefully play the role of serene invalid. Although guests came and went, paying their respects, the people seated with him were two elderly women and three girls only a year older than Felipe. To the indulgent amusement of the women, Diego patiently began to teach the girls English drafts. One could already play, but her strategy was execrable. Diego, with amazing forbearance, corrected mistakes and explained tactics and laughed at their jokes. Felipe had no idea how he stood it: was there any creature more boring than a fourteen year-old girl? At a formal party in the city, you wouldn't even bring them along.

But then, Diego had always had an extraordinary amount of patience for the dull, the powerless, the unimportant. Felipe would know that better than anyone.

Hot, his head aching from the noise and the smells, Felipe slipped out into the lee between the house and the barn. It was cooler here. And quiet. Well, quieter. The music and laughing was a senseless roar behind him. He wondered if hearing was such an exhausting chore for everyone. He wondered when he would get used to it..._if_ he would. He leaned his head back against the wall and whished he had some water.

He shouldn't stay long. Diego was alone.

The sound of footsteps, very close, made him shift sideways, deeper into the shadows. He didn't want to speak to anyone or see anyone or hear any questions or accept any sympathy.

"People will talk about this party for years," a man was saying. "I haven't seen the like since I left Mexico City."

"Oh, yes. A magnificent party. I, certainly, will never forget it." Don Alejandro's voice. Felipe cringed inwardly and pushed himself against the wall. He didn't want to hear this conversation, but most of all he didn't want to join it, so he stayed still.

"What could you do?" And if Don Alejandro was speaking so openly the second voice must belong to Don Carlos. "You could hardly pretend they never left? You had to celebrate."

"It feels like a funeral banquet. Diego....Santa Maria, what a good, bright child he was. Absolutely blessed. Ah, Carlos...what I don't understand...I don't understand, if someone has to die...why isn't it me? I've had a _good _life. Diego had so much ahead of him."

"Well. Don't look at me. I drove Rosalita away--we both know I'm a jackass. I have no children, no sons. I've never done anything worth...anything. _Most_ days I envy you." He shrugged. "Clearly not today."

Like a released spring, Don Alejandro spun around and shoved Don Carlos hard. He tripped and caught himself on a hitching post. "So?" he asked.

"So!" Don Alejandro snarled. "You are still a jackass." He laughed once, bitterly. "But you are also right. There is no cure for birth or death but to live between them."

"You got the quotation wrong."

"I did not--! Ah, Diego....Diego would know."

There was a little silence. The breeze stirred the bushes.

"You said he thinks he might live a long time with his condition."

"Dr. Hernandez...disagrees."

"It's been four years, I admit....But it seems to me that Diego was usually right. About the most surprising things....he was right more often than not."

It was a long time before Don Alejandro answered that. "He suffers so. He is frustrated...and he is afraid."

"Then he will need you to be very strong."

"Ai! Are you drunk? You are never wise when you're sober, you old jackass."

"Go to your guests. Smile at your sons. Celebrate."

Felipe stayed still until they were gone. He felt guilty--partly for eavesdropping, but mostly not. If you were going to hear personal, painful things, it was much better not to get caught. But he should not have been away from Diego so long.

Diego was still in the parlor. They had moved on from the board game and one of the girls was playing the piano. Felipe's stomach clinched as he glanced down at the repaired stool. It seemed unfair, that Diego should have to listen to someone _else_ play the piano.

He didn't seem particularly put out or unhappy, though. Possibly because the chair beside him was now occupied by Victoria Escalante. Diego was staring straight ahead, but his attention was clearly on her.

The girl at the piano wasn't very good. At least, she didn't seem to be, from what Felipe had heard in the past year or so. She was followed by one of the other girls...who was a little better. The room was growing more crowded and someone coaxed Don Armando into playing. Before he had heard Diego play, Felipe had thought Don Armando was quite good.

As Don Armando's first piece finished Senorita Victoria laid a hand on Diego's arm and leaned over and said something in his ear. Felipe saw Diego answer that it would be a pleasure. His rise was slow but graceful, and he formally offered Victoria his arm.

Outside, there was a pause in the music and dancing, but courtyard was still crowded. Diego led her around the edge and through the small gate into the low-walled kitchen garden. Felipe followed at a short distance. He needed to be available, but he didn't want to embarrass Diego by obviously watching over him.

Senorita Victoria sighed and turned to look back at the lanterns, the decorations, the elegantly dressed guests. "It is such a beautiful night."

"Yes," Diego answered wryly, gazing up, into the darkness pushed away by the lights. "One of the conveniences of California. No matter the date or what you are celebrating, the weather is cooperative."

Something in his answer made her look up and frown. "Diego?"

He regarded her blandly.

Her voice more hesitant, Senorita Victoria began again, "It was good to see you in town yesterday. I hope you enjoyed your lunch?"

"Yes, it was delicious," this answer was bland, too: polite and correct, but distant.

"I hope...that is, Sergeant Mendoza, he means well, I think. And he keeps his men in hand, which I deeply appreciate," she paused, but when Diego didn't respond, she continued, "as you can imagine. But. He is not always...Well, sometimes he is blunt. Or unkind. Without meaning to be--"

Frowning, Diego peered down at her. "What are you talking about? What about Mendoza?"

"I only meant, if he said something yesterday, at lunch, that...well that offended you somehow....I wanted to tell you not to take it too closely to heart."

She had his full--if puzzled--attention. Finally. "Why would you think Mendoza offended me, Senorita?"

"Well, you were just in such a good mood yesterday. And today, here we are at a party and...." she shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under his unblinking gaze. "I thought, perhaps, well, it would not be the first time he said something thoughtlessly."

"No. No, I found his company very pleasant. Instructive, even."

"Only....It seems to me...that you are very unhappy about something, Don Diego?"

Wearily, Diego turned half-away and rested his hands on the wall. "What do you want from me, Senorita?"

She took a step back. "What do I _want_ from you? You're my friend. I want--" She stopped, suddenly. Her back stiffened with suspicion. "You were my friend when you left, but perhaps Spain changed you." She took another step backward and visibly shored up her dignity. "You were in Madrid for a long time. Maybe you're not the sort of man who has friends in the middle classes now. Or maybe it's _women_ who are now beneath your notice?"

Diego's head snapped up and he gaped at her in unconcealed shock.

"Or perhaps you have decided I'm not the right _sort_ of woman. You wouldn't be the first."

"Victoria!" Diego gasped. "I--no." He broke off helplessly. "I." Felipe had never seen Diego at a loss for words. It would have been funny, if he hadn't looked completely devastated.

"I would have minded my own business, if you'd asked me, but instead you're suddenly so _polite_--" she all but spat the word out, as though it tasted terrible.

"Victoria, no. no. I...." He made a grab for her hand, thought better of it and clasped his own hands together. "Senorita, you are in no way responsible for my truly foul mood. You have not offended me, and I regard your friendship with the same...do you really believe that I think you're...you're _beneath _me? In any way?"

She dropped her eyes. "Before tonight I would have said no. Of course not. But I scarcely seem to know you tonight. I've been trying to talk to you for half an hour, and you have been so polite and so...cold." She put a few more feet between them and opened her fan; not to fan herself, but to hide behind. In a small voice, she added, "Your friendship means a great deal to me."

He rested his forearms on the low wall and bowed his head. "And...and to me. Forgive me, Victoria. I...I can see how offensive my behavior seems. As my brother tried to point out earlier today, I am very unpleasant when I'm feeling sorry for myself. It was nothing to do with you."

Slowly, she stepped a little closer and closed the fan. She leaned on the wall beside him and rested her chin on her hand. After a while she said, "Because you're ill."

"Yes."

She looked, studying the top of wall as though it were very interesting or beautiful. "Well. I have nothing comforting or reassuring or...philosophical to tell you. I'm not very wise. I suppose...I should say something pious. And I--I do believe that my parents are waiting, in heaven. And your mother. And, surely, Diego, if there is anyone who has a place--" She stopped and shook her head. Felipe thought she might be about to cry, which was an offense he was going to hold against her. But just then Diego laughed.

He laughed loudly enough that several of the nearer guests turned to look. Senorita Victoria swatted him on the arm with her fan. "Have you lost your mind?" she hissed.

Still laughing, Diego held up his hands in surrender. "It was such a nice compliment. A bit extravagant, perhaps, but you're the first person to claim I was a saint." He laughed again. "Really, I'm touched."

She scowled at him. "Saint? You are a devil! It's not funny."

Diego's laughter softened to something more serious. "No. I suppose it's not."

"No--wait." She started to reach for his hand and then froze. "Don't. Laugh if you want to. I didn't mean...just...laugh if you want to."

Diego's only answer was to take her hand. It wasn't the formal gesture of a gentleman addressing a lady, but two children clinging to one another. The stood that way, silently, for a long time.

The musicians returned from their break. People began dancing again. Felipe sat cross-legged on the ground next to the gate. From his position he could see both the party and Diego, who was safe enough where he was. And content, at least as much as he was going to be.

Another dance started. Felipe wondered how anyone could remember to move their feet, when the music itself was so distracting.

"I suppose you saw people waltzing, when you were in Madrid?" Senorita Victoria said, thoughtfully.

Felipe couldn't see Diego's answer, but Senorita Victoria's eyes widened. "How scandalous! And you practically a saint, and everything."

Diego drew himself up primly. "The church doesn't forbid it in Europe!"

"Oh. There is that, I suppose. Still...is it as bad as people say?"

He nodded cheerfully. "Every bit." His smile faded. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I can't ask you to dance."

She blushed and glanced away before stammering, "I--I would have declined anyway. I mean...these shoes. They're so uncomfortable. I can barely walk, I'm sure I couldn't... dance."

"And here I let you stand so long," Diego said, not acknowledging the kindness she had pretended he didn't need. "Here." He lifted her neatly to sit on the wall.

For a moment, she looked startled and pleased. Then it was gone, and so was the brief regret that had chased it away. "Oh! Look who's dancing with Dona Isabella. Don Bernardo--"

"Oh, yes. I remember. He was trying to press his suit when I left--don't tell me she still hasn't--"

"Not yet. Perhaps she thinks it's unseemly...at their age. I think they're adorable."

They gossiped for a while, easily picking up threads of the endless web of observations and assumptions that ordered life in a small community. Felipe had heard it all before. He leaned his head against the gate post and listened to the music instead.

When, sometime later, a hand closed around his arm, he jumped. Senorita Victoria was leaning over him, her face serious. "Diego has asked for you," she said. "He seems very tired. I'm a little worried."

Nodding to show he understood, Felipe leapt to his feet. Pushing past her, he paused to sign a hurried thank-you and rushed on.

Diego had stepped into the shadow of a rose arbor. "I'm not ill," he answered Felipe's worried look. "Just...suddenly exhausted."

"Bed?" Felipe asked.

Diego nodded, and Felipe led him around the edges of the party and in through the kitchen door. Inside, in the light, Diego didn't look too pale, but he was drawn with fatigue. Felipe led him down the back hall and into his bedroom.

Many of the guests would be staying the night. A few who had traveled most of the day would go to the homes of nearer neighbors and some would stay up and party all night, but to accommodate the rest, families would be sharing the bedrooms here. Even Don Alejandro's own room was to be used. In fact, the only room that wasn't included in the sleeping arrangements was Diego's--and even he would be sharing with Gilberto, assuming that Gilberto actually planned to sleep at all.

Felipe set the candle on the table and guided Diego into the comfortable chair. Diego didn't protest when Felipe helped him change and then tucked him in to bed. In fact, as he settled back into the pillows, he was still holding Felipe's hand. And he didn't let go. Felipe snared the stool with his foot and dragged it over so he could sit down. The candle was on the other side of the bed, but there was no help for it. He let it burn.

He wasn't particularly tired. It couldn't be very late. Well, later than he was usually awake, but still nothing like the night they'd stayed up building Zorro's glider. The musicians were still playing outside, so people were still dancing. Nobody had left yet. Anyway, looking after Diego wasn't very taxing, as work went. There just wasn't that much to do. Felipe wasn't sleepy....

He began to pray. He wondered--he frequently did--if the prayers worked better in Latin. He wondered if it mattered, that he couldn't speak them at all. He wondered why God had allowed this terrible illness to seize Diego, when there were so many evil men who deserved to suffer, so many no one would miss.

The candle had burned low when the door opened slowly and Gilberto slipped in. Silently, he stripped off his boots, jacket, and sash, and crept across the room in his stocking feet. He twitched aside the curtain and nodded when he found the windows completely closed. He turned and studied Diego thoughtfully.

"I'm fine," Diego said quietly. He freed the hand that Felipe was still holding and opened his eyes. "I just needed to lie down for a while. How much have you had to drink?"

Gilberto growled irritably. "Firstly, Little Brother, I am not an idiot. I've had enough to be a little sleepy and not enough to give me a hangover. Believe me, I have the sense not to go out tomorrow _indisposed_. Secondly, will you stop being such an old woman! You _worry _about every little thing. Yes, I am sober."

Diego turned his face away and said something too quietly for Felipe to hear. Perhaps that had been deliberate, because whatever the words were they completely incensed Gilberto, who shoved past Felipe and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "And you're asking if I'm drunk? What have you been drinking? How could you say something so purely stupid--"

Gilberto was huge--nearly as tall as Diego and every bit as broad. Felipe grabbed him from behind anyway and tried to pull him away. It was like trying to shift a tree. Gilberto turned on him and pushed him back onto the stool. "Oh, no. Sit down and I'll tell you what he said. He said I had to be careful because _I was all Father had left_."

Felipe's eyes darted to Diego's face. Diego did not deny it.

"Giving up so easily? That odd doctor you liked so much said you had every chance to see forty or even forty-five. You're as likely to be burying him as...."

"Yes," Diego said tightly. "What a lovely idea. A nice, long, pointless life. I'm useless to my community, a burden to my family--"

"Just how do you expect me to manage this Zorro scheme without you?" Gilberto asked incredulously.

Felipe barely heard him. A huge and terrible wave of...something was washing over him. It was cold and empty and terrifying. Fumbling, he pushed between the twins and signed at Diego, "I need you. I need you. I don't know how to be a man. You were...teaching me...Diego...." The wave didn't recede. It inundated everything, filled his lungs so he couldn't breathe, filled is brain so he couldn't think, filled his throat so it burned.

Diego closed his eyes.

"Oh yes. Close your eyes so you can't hear him. Well, you brought the little pest home, and he isn't nearly grown up yet. He's your responsibility."

_Oh, yes_, Felipe thought, _Oh, yes_. Gilberto had understood. The courage Diego didn't have anymore for himself he could find for the people who loved him. _Help me._ _Make him listen._ But Gilberto was silent, and Felipe gave him an angry look. When he turned back to Diego, though, he understood why Gilberto had relented. He had stopped fighting because they'd already won. Two slow tears slid free and left shining tracks on Diego's cheeks.

Gilberto climbed the rest of the way onto the bed and seated himself at the headboard beside Diego. He put an arm around his brother and produced a handkerchief. "I know what we're asking. The courage and forbearance you've already shown....I know, I know. But, Diego, you aren't alone. You don't have to face this alone."

Diego wiped his eyes and then reached for Felipe with his free hand. "I feel so....helpless. It is difficult to imagine anyone so desperate as to need me." He tried to smile it into a joke, but Gilberto had to carry it for him:

"I was desperate enough to fly in an artificial bird you'd never tested at full size. That should have made the point right then."

Felipe tapped Diego's hand until he opened his eyes. "Not all of the days are bad," he signed. "I've seen you...happy."

"And there are more good days now then bad. I know, Diego, it has already been so long. But you're still getting stronger." He sighed. "Enough. This kind of upset, it won't help you at all. Are you calm enough? Or should I dose you."

Diego's eyes popped open. "Not tonight. Tomorrow, I'll need a clear head...is the saddle ready?"

"Almost."

"I can finish it tomorrow while you're at mass. I'll plead exhaustion, no one will question it."

"As though I would let you go, anyway. But it is convenient. I'll race home directly after to 'check on you.' It's the only way I can see to manage the timing."

Felipe tapped the bed. "What are you talking about?"

Gilberto smiled broadly. "Zorro has an appointment tomorrow; he's going to see a man about a whipping."

Oh. Good.

"And speaking of, I'd like a little sleep between now and then. Put out the light and go to bed. If we need you, I'll call."

_ TBC_


	4. January 21, 1813: Madrid

**January 21, 1813**

Senora Diaz met Gilberto at the door with the news that the mail had come and also that Diego had company, "the nice master with the unpronounceable name and that Englishman." Gilberto suppressed a smile. There hostess clearly found only one of the guests welcome: Master Nurgaliyev, the botanist, was exacting in his assignments and intolerant of a student's mistakes, but he was very gallant with women. On the other hand...well, in fact, the only thing wrong with Sir Edmund was that he was English, but that was a fault Senora Diaz found unforgivable. "I brought them tea, earlier." She disapproved of tea, too, but Diego still wasn't allowed coffee.

Gilberto thanked her, tucked the package containing his new boots under his arm, and hurried up the stairs to their lodging. When he opened the door to the tiny sitting room he found Diego and the two older men comfortably conversing. He paused, very pleased. Diego was complaining about _Philosophie Zoologique_ again. He'd been talking about it all week. He seemed to be-almost-himself. "I'm not saying his descriptions aren't accurate. And some of his proposals are brilliant, but-"

"You can't argue with the Use and Disuse model." Master Nurgaliyev's Russian accent made his interruption sound very harsh, but Diego was not intimidated.

"No, but I simply _must_ argue with the idea of a complexifying force," he responded reasonably.

"What do you mean?" Master Nurgaliyev sounded as outraged as if it was his own theory being questioned. "It is elegant!"

"Yes, as long as you ignore basic chemistry."

Sir Edmund snorted behind his tea cup.

Master Nurgaliyev opened his mouth to begin making his point in his favorite way-loudly. Gilberto hurriedly stepped forward to distract them before Nurgaliyev and Diego provoked one another into a frenzy. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. _Dobrie dehn_. It was good of you to come by."

"Gilberto, marvelous to see you, my boy," Sir Edmund said, jumping to his feet. "I was hoping I could talk you into competing in the tournament next week."

Gilberto shook his head with only a little regret. "It would mean being out of the city for four days. I couldn't-"

"Of course you will," Diego corrected. "You'd be delighted and honored."

Gilberto shot Diego a quelling look and said, "No."

"_Yes_." Diego smiled. "And it isn't kind to contradict me." Which was Diego's way of saying that he wouldn't let his health keep him from arguing. Damn him.

"Why?"

Diego shrugged. "Because you'll win. Because a few days by the sea...you'd enjoy that."

"We'll talk about it later." Gilberto said. It was not a concession.

The masters left shortly after that. Gilberto walked them to the door, and used the walk down and back to calm himself and rein in his temper. "Thank you," he said, as he came in. "I appreciate the thought, Little Brother. I understand why you are being generous, but it's not necessary."

"It's only four days. It's not as though I'll be alone. Senora Diaz always checks on me when you are out. Upstairs, Don Marco-don't look at me like that. It's not as though anything interesting is going to happen while you're gone. Sitting here and watching me breathe isn't productive and can't be very interesting. You have to start living your life."

Gilberto closed his eyes. Damn him, damn him. "Will it make you happy if I compete?"

"Yes."

"Then I will do it." _Damn you, Diego_. As though he would be able to do anything but worry the whole time he'd be gone. "Have you taken your medication?"

"Not yet."

Gilberto went to the narrow table in the corner and poured a little water into a tiny glass. Seven drops from the green glass bottle, five drops from the brown glass bottle. A tiny spoon to measure the grey powder..."I assume they came to discuss when you'd be returning to classes?" he asked. Master Nurgaliyev and Sir Edmund both visited Diego occasionally, but they had never come together before.

"I...couldn't give them answer."

"No?" He tried to set aside the automatic flash of worry. "You're improving very quickly. Surely, in a month or two you'll be ready to at least...but that's up to you, of course. I won't rush you._ I_ might resume classes soon, though." In a second small glass, he poured equal measures of water and wine and added a spoon full of honey. The medication was so bitter, and Diego took it six times a day without complaint... He handed Diego the first glass. "There was mail?"

"On the desk," Diego said. He gulped down the first glass with a grimace, then quickly followed it with the second.

Gilberto returned the glasses to their place and went to the desk. There were two envelopes. One was already open. "You've read this," he said.

Diego didn't answer.

Gilberto tugged out the paper and glanced over it. From home. "Well?"

"I'm not going to deny it."

"Diego-"

"How much have you been censoring?"

"Not much." Sighing, he sat down.

"This is the first I've heard of Luis Ramone."

Gilberto glanced down at the letter. Ramone was making himself truly obnoxious. There had been very little rain in months. Measles had gone through the pueblo in November, and two people had died. Felipe's hearing had stopped improving, and the boy was still half-deaf. There was good news, too, of course, but... "Father can handle the alcalde. Truly. Diego...Father is fine. The hacienda is doing well-the profits last fall were very good. The pueblo is growing. Your little shadow has thrived this last year."

"I know," Diego said. "I know. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"There isn't." Gilberto glanced over the letter again and set it down. Diego didn't say anything further, so after a minute Gilberto picked up the unopened letter. It was from Julian. He didn't let himself hesitate, but broke the seal at once. "South America," he said. "He's been posted to Santiago."

He glanced at Diego, expecting him to say, "I'm sorry," but instead he said, "It could have been much worse. He may do very well there." _Then_ he sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

Gilberto read the rest of the letter. It was short. He folded it neatly and put down. "You never liked Julian."

"I never _dis_liked him. Or even disapproved of him. I just...worried."

Sighing, Gilberto stood up and turned his back on the letters. "He was as bad as you..._right_ about everything. Always. He warned me about Zafira..."

"Ah. I am sorry," Diego said quietly. "About Zafira."

"Don't say it again. Please."

"She...it _was_ because of me. Because you were so occupied with my illness-"

"Yes, and both of you had warned me, within days of meeting her, that she was shallow and cold and I was being a fool-"

"I never said that."

"Julian did."

A tiny smile teased at Diego's lips. "Ah. I like him more and more."

"Diego...He was right. _You_ were right. She..."

"She was brilliant. She was proud. She was fearless. She was a beautiful, charming woman who...was very well suited to you, and she found you fascinating," Diego said gently.

"Until the moment she noticed that she was not the center of the solar system and I a planet obsessively orbiting her!" He said it more bitterly than he'd have liked, but he had just been so surprised. She'd seemed practical and reasonable and kind. She was the first woman since his mother that he'd respected: not silly or fearful or trivial-

All that had changed so quickly. Without warning she'd turned selfish and petty, demanding his attention to trifling, ridiculous things when Diego had been hovering near death. They'd quarreled, and Gilberto still didn't understand what they'd been quarreling about or why she'd been angry...

"You went to see her today," Diego guessed.

"She wasn't there. Hasn't been there. I don't know where she went, or why...I'm not going back again."

Diego stood slowly and looked at him. Hard. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I'm done with her. I won't go back, I won't look for her again."

Diego rose slowly and went to the window. Gilberto steeled himself inwardly, but Diego didn't open the window, he only pushed the curtain aside and looked down on the street.

"What is it? Diego?"

"Nothing. I'm thinking."

"Diego? Are you-"

"I'm not having a spell. I'm thinking. I...are you sure? About Zafira?"

"Yes, I mean it. All right? Finally. And please don't tell me you told me so."

Diego turned back and studied Gilberto carefully. "I'm already insufferable. I'll pass this time." He hesitated. "I _am_ sorry," he said, and Gilberto heard all the things he didn't say: I'm sorry because you loved her. I'm sorry because I know what you hoped for. I'm sorry because you would have been so good to her.

I'm sorry because she was the first woman you ever noticed and now I'm afraid you won't ever risk noticing again.

Gilberto swallowed. "I'm not. Better to know her nature_ now_, surely. What if I'd married her? This can't be the last trial we face in our lives. But let's forget it. Hmmm? It's in the past now. Diego...something else is on your mind."

"It's not important." He turned back to the window.

Gilberto waited. It was a long wait. When Diego finally spoke it was so quietly that Gilberto had to step closer to hear him. "The whole time they were here, talking about resuming my studies...all I could think was that I wanted to go home. I'm sorry."

"But-you love the university-"

"I do. I do. And it isn't just me. Your studies-you haven't finished either, 'Berto. But it doesn't really mean so much to you-not so much that you'd mourn it-"

"Diego-"

"I want to go home," he burst out, laying his hands on the windowsill and leaning forward. "I'm sorry. But it's all I can think about anymore. And if_ you_ won't miss the university and if you have given up on her, then..."

"I'll take you home," he said quickly, taking his brother by the arm and guiding him back to his chair. "We'll go home."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"You love Madrid. You have friends here." The regret and apology in Diego's eyes was too much to bear. Gilberto looked away even as he squeezed Diego's forearm with all the strength he could muster. "You've already given up so much for me."

"We'll go home. As soon as the doctor says it's safe for you to travel. We'll go home."

_tbc_


	5. April 30, 1813

**April 30, 1813**

Felipe rose to check on them three times during the night. The first two times music was still playing outside. The third, he could hear people talking outside-but not many. All of the times, Diego was sound asleep under the covers, Gilberto was asleep on top of them, and the window was shut.

When he woke for the fourth time it was starting to get light and Gilberto was putting on his boots. Felipe sat up and pulled the blanket around him-for comfort, mostly, since the room wasn't particularly cold. "Diego?" he asked.

Gilberto glanced worriedly around the corner toward the bed but signed, "Good." He made use of Diego's hairbrush, fussing at the mirror for a long time before turning and signing crudely, "We need to talk. People who are sick like Diego is sick...sometimes they get sad."

Felipe rolled his eyes. Sometimes Gilberto was an idiot. "If I were sick and couldn't _do_ anything, I'd be sad, too."

Gilberto shook his head. "Hope...and happiness...and love take...strength. Body strength." He glanced at the bed, then at the door, clearly wishing he could have this conversation with words. But people were moving around in the house, and speaking loudly enough in here for Felipe to hear might disturb Diego. "What he thinks and how he feels...both are the same." He stopped and thought. "He will _try_ not to be sad today. But maybe the sickness will pull him down. His feelings...will be very strong. Be kind to him." He smiled suddenly, probably relieved at seeing the end of this tortuous and halting description. "Be patient."

Felipe nodded, although there were dozens of questions he wanted to ask. That hadn't been clear at all. Gilberto patted his head and opened the door. He paused for a long moment in the doorway, and then as he eased out Don Alejandro eased in. He gestured an absent "good morning" to Felipe and crept around the corner into the bedroom. He looked at Diego for a long time. Finally, he turned and asked Felipe-more fluidly than Gilberto could, and wasn't speaking with hands convenient when you wanted to be quiet?-how Diego was.

"He slept-good sleep, all night long. It was a good night."

Don Alejandro nodded slowly, his eyes on Diego. "Don't wake him. Let him sleep...as long as he wants."

Felipe nodded. He had no intention of waking Diego.

He waited until Don Alejandro, Gilberto, and the remaining party guests had left for mass. Diego wasn't stirring, so he slipped out and began to help with the clean-up. He spent two hours at a tub outside, washing dishes. Every dish in the house had been used, and an extra set borrowed from a neighbor. Most of them had probably already been washed and reused at least once during the night.

After a couple of hours, he slipped off and checked on Diego: still sleeping. Felipe left him there and went down to the cave to finish the trim on Toronado's kit. He was reaching for the last silver fitting when Diego joined him. He lifted the light and held it over the table. "Very good work," he said. "Did you get anything to eat?"

Felipe shrugged. He had, in fact, helped himself to leftover venison pie in the kitchen.

Diego set an orange on the table. "Felipe...last night."

Felipe shook his head and motioned him to hush.

"I'm sorry."

Felipe squeezed his hand and then changed the subject. "Toronado is in a bad mood. He wouldn't let me feed him."

Diego straightened. "He hasn't been out in two days," he said. He went and had a short discussion with the stallion. He curried him and fed him and-slowly-saddled him. Toronado tossed his head and complained, but he took the bridle and then the saddle. Felipe stayed a dozen feet back when Diego led Toronado outside and mounted. He walked the horse in circles, then, as he became less skittish, put him through a series of sharp turns and short trots. By the time Gilberto-dressed in Zorro's black-emerged from the cave mouth, Diego had Toronado well in hand.

Diego slid from the saddle and held out the reins. Gilberto hesitated for a moment before taking them. "I don't have much time..." he said.

Diego nodded. "Don't complicate it," he said. "Move fast and don't give them time to think."

Gilberto paused for a moment more. He mounted, turned Toronado, and was gone at a canter.

Diego crossed himself and went back into the house.

The wait was an hour and a half. Felipe knew that because Diego laid an open pocket watch on the table. He had a book in his lap, but he didn't read it.

Felipe fixed a bowl of stale bread and milk, which Diego scowled at, but-with surprising obedience-ate. Well, some of it, anyway.

Felipe fetched a broom and started sweeping. He was so agitated he had to keep reminding himself not to kick up dust.

How long would it take?

What could go wrong?

He had been watching the secret door with one eye the whole time, but when the panel finally opened and Gilberto rushed out, frantically running his hands through his hair, it was almost anticlimactic. "Is he here yet?" he gasped.

Diego exhaled hard and sagged with relief. "Not yet. Not yet...what happened?"

"The lancers gave chase. I had to run them up the little arroyo that opens into Pine Creek." He grinned. "He was incredible, Diego. He'll need water later-"

"Yes, it's good you are conscientious about your horse. What happened with Ramone?"

Gilberto gave a single shudder of disgust. "He erected a pole in the middle of the plaza for his whipping. I think you're right-it wasn't a coincidence. He knew there would be dozens of de le Vega guests in town for mass before going home. He was making a point to a broad audience."

Diego nodded.

"I rode right up behind him and caught the whip when he drew back for his second strike."

"Second?"

"My timing was off. But everybody was looking at the 'public justice,' and no one saw me until I was in the middle of things." He grinned. "Ramone challenged me again. Lost again. I demanded concessions. The boys go free..." He winced. "That sergeant and two of his men tried to box in Toronado. I think one has a broken arm."

"Is he-"

"Remembered his training. Came when I whistled." He laughed. "I had two ladies throwing handkerchiefs after me-one of them little Victoria. I remember she used to trail after us when we went fishing with her brother. And now look at her!" He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself, and sat down at the writing desk. "It was incredible. It was perfect." He paused. "So. The next move is theirs."

Diego nodded thoughtfully. "I will be interested in hearing Father's account. We need to know how people are responding in town."

Gilberto rubbed his hands together. He was all but humming with excitement. He rose and paced the little room. "How are you feeling?"

"Comfortable enough. If you'll let me change the subject, there's something we need to discuss."

"Oh?" Gilberto looked up, and then looked again. "Oh." He sat down, suddenly serious.

Diego motioned for Felipe to sit, too. He looked from one to the other, and Felipe understood what Gilberto had seen: Diego was angry about something. "'Berto, you've been using Felipe to maneuver me since we got home. I'm not going to ask that you stop-he has been completely complicit, and I know I'll never win that sort of argument against the two of you." He smiled, briefly, which didn't at all disguise his anger. "But last night you went too far. It was unacceptable, and I won't allow it."

Felipe's mouth dropped open. He couldn't imagine what had happened. Perhaps Gilberto had said something after Felipe had gone to sleep?

"Diego, you know I didn't mean it-"

Slowly, in a hard, calm voice, Diego answered, "I don't care if you mean it or not, you will not attack Felipe in order to get my attention."

What? No! Felipe was horrified. He reached out and swatted Diego's leg so he'd look toward him. "It's not important!" he signed. "I don't care."

Diego lifted a single finger and pointed Felipe into silence. "You don't care. I do." He turned to Gilberto. "I will not hear the word 'pest' again-or any others like it. Ever. Ruse or not."

Felipe expected Gilberto to laugh or point out that Felipe had, in fact, been a pest quite often. Or maybe that he'd give way with the patient condescension he sometimes used when he was trying not to upset Diego just because of his illness. But instead he nodded almost pityingly. "I still don't understand...but at least now I see _what _it is I don't understand. I can't imagine being _anyone's_ parent." He lifted a hand quickly. "I don't understand it, but I respect it. All right? He's yours. And...and maybe the only one you'll have. So." He dropped his eyes. "I apologize, Diego. I apologize. And for what it's worth, I'll...I mean to see you finish this endeavor."

Diego nodded, but continued to look at him flatly.

Gilberto turned to Felipe. "I beg your pardon," he said politely, as though they were two gentlemen circumventing an issue of honor. "No offense was intended."

Felipe shook his head vigorously.

Diego leaned back in the chair. He was silent long enough that Felipe began to worry. He had always known Diego hated the endless sniping and one-upmanship and little sabotages. _Now_ he didn't have the strength to waste on arbitrating petty meanness. Felipe reached across and nudged his arm. "I'll stop calling him short," he offered desperately.

Gilberto groaned, but Diego just nodded thoughtfully. "You could, actually. You can stop defending yourself. He has finally-oh finally-realized that you are not some kind of replacement brother I brought home because he wasn't interesting enough."

Felipe felt himself flushing. On the one hand, it _was_ patently absurd: the idea that a peasant orphan could ever take _anything_ away from the de le Vega firstborn. Felipe was nobody and every once in a while Gilberto used to remind him of this fact. On the other hand...Felipe _had_ hated him. He had only stopped wishing that Gilberto would just disappear when he was literate enough to write down a confession and read the answer the priest gave back.

But that had been wrong, hadn't it? Really _wrong_, to hate him or want him gone, because it was only Gilberto's devotion to his brother that had brought Diego home. It was Gilberto's strength that was sustaining both of the twins right now. "I'm sorry," Felipe signed, forcing himself to make the gesture large and clear.

"Oh, no," Gilberto said quickly, misunderstanding what the apology was for. "Don't bother. I've gotten kind of attached to Shorty."

Oh. Felipe swallowed. He couldn't face that, calling Gilberto "Lesser," for the rest of their lives. Not now. "Older," he signed. "My Older Friend."

"As you wish," Gilberto said, swallowing hard. He stood up and briskly went to the bookshelf. "Where have you put the history?"

Diego was still looking at Felipe. Felipe saw him whisper, "Thank you."

Gilberto sat down beside Diego with a copy of _The Lord, Master of the Military Arts_ and began to read aloud.

He was still reading half an hour later when Don Alejandro returned. "Gilberto, you will not believe what happened," he bellowed even before closing the door. "Gilberto? The Fox is making himself a plague on Ramone!" He broke off as he caught sight of them. "Diego? How are you feeling?"

"A little tired, but no more then I'd expect."

Don Alejandro nodded. He looked acutely uncomfortable and uncertain. "Diego..."

"You were saying, Father? About The Fox?" Diego asked, looking mildly interested.

After a moment, he sat down. "Telling the story-it seems almost absurd. He rode right into the middle of the pueblo and snatched the whip out of the alcalde's hand. How is it possible? He defeated Ramone with a sword and carved a neat little "Z" in his jacket and...just rode out again. The lancers say he seems to have vanished about a mile outside of town. It was amazing."

"How remarkable," Diego murmured. Gilberto kept his eyes on the closed book in his hand.

"The lancers are saying he's some kind of demon. Victoria Escalante says the people finally have a champion who can't be intimidated."

"Let's hope she's right," Gilberto said earnestly. "What a shame I missed it."

_~end_


End file.
